


Artem's Ruin

by ecrituredudesir



Category: Furry (Fandom), Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Beating, Cock & Ball Torture, Ear Gore, Gore, Kidnapping, Other, Sterilization, Violence, eye gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 03:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12950832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecrituredudesir/pseuds/ecrituredudesir
Summary: A commission written for someone on Furaffinity of a Sergal OC named Artem being kidnapped and tormented by a Fox named Anna and her goon, a Deer.





	Artem's Ruin

**Author's Note:**

> my commission info is available here: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/25599166/

By the time Artem had registered the shock of the van pulling up and a gag being forced into his bite from behind, there was nothing he could do. A bag was forced over his head, and by then it was far too late to stop the forceful shove of his frame into something metal—the door to a van that hadn’t been fully open, and his shoulder ached with the fact he’d collided with it rather than simply being forced into the back of the unmarked vehicle. A cold click of metal behind him secured his wrists at the base of his spine, with his abductor forcing him down and leaving him to scramble in the back of the vehicle; there were no seats that he could find, with the drawstring of the bag over his head drawn tight. Before he could do much else, to force his weight up and move with any amount of freedom, the unknown figure had moved to the front of the vehicle. It had only been parked nearby, not shut off, and with the shift of gears it was rolling again.  
  
The shift of the van and the momentum it took, tearing off quickly into the night, was enough to make him roll in his disorientation, his body weight working against him and making him easy to move one the van lurched off. He rolled hard into the back door of the van, his shoulder aching as he struggled against the cuffs at his back, unable to get his footing up to try and beat against any window for help. There was no word over who was taking him, or where they were going despite his writhing and squirming in desperation for freedom, none of which was found. The van ride is rough without leverage to lift himself or his head from the cold metal under it; the van was stripped out for just such an occasion, and he was faced with the realization that wherever he was going, nothing good would come of it.  
  
The drive took about twenty minutes of discomfort and jostling, but with the faint screech of breaks, the van was actually shut off, and he waited in tense anxiety for there to come the sound of any movement other than the driver leaving the front seat. Suddenly, his body lurched backwards from where he’d rolled to prop against the back door of the van. He nearly falls, but comes to rest against one strong arm that he can’t quite place for species or size, but it has the strength to lift his weight against one shoulder. The Sergal tries to communicate, tries to demand some information on where he was or a request for the gag to be removed, but it’s with little luck or mercy. They’re moving before he can kick or squirm, but when he _did_ try to retaliate, it was met with a firm pinch to the back of his knee that hurt more than he expected. It stills his movements, but not his noises of dread. There was the movement of a door opening, and then he was fully aware from the subtle lurching of the shoulder he was on that he was being taken down stairs.  
  
The wind was knocked suddenly from him when he isn’t dropped from his abductor’s shoulder, but _thrown_. Artem hits the ground hard enough to let out a low, wincing groan, and the sound itself was echoed by the smooth click of heels approaching. He couldn’t tell from which direction; the acoustics of the room made them seem like they could come from any and all sides, but there’s a somewhat familiar voice that echoes a few moments later.  
  
“Good job. Take the mask off, let’s see that _atrocious_ face.” It’s a woman’s voice, a low rumble of a soft tone, before he felt the tie at his throat lessen in tightness, and the mask was pulled free. The sergal stared up in the fact of a smug, wickedly smiling fox. Anna. His gaze cut to the one holding the mask, a large deer who looked less than pleased about having to lug his weight around thus far, but who had likely done so at the beck and whim of the woman before him. The gag isn’t removed just yet, and his gaze is ripped back to Anna when she lets two fingers play across his jaw. “So, Artem. You thought you could just _gossip_ about me, and not have _any_ retaliation?” She questioned, her brow lifting. He couldn’t help but feel that the fingers stroking his jaw were much more dangerous than she was letting on for them to be. He could tell despite the sweetness of her words that there was a quiet fury behind her gaze. She wasn’t just angry—there was a pent of malice in her that screamed intimidation, and it was enough to make him just a bit nervous. He was outnumbered and cuffed still, a victim to any lack of mercy that she and his kidnapper might feel.  
  
“So,” Anna continued, taking full advantage of the fact that he couldn’t argue or backtalk her while still gagged, “you’re going to apologize. On camera. Where everyone can see that you’ve been spreading _rumors_ and _lies.”_ It’s a simple announcement, the fox fully content with the fact that she believed fully that no matter what, Artem would be faced with the situation where he’d have to give in. She had him right where she wanted him, bound and gagged at her disposal, and she was obviously feeling confident in his cooperation. A little gesture to Deer was given, and the other male shifted to start to undo his gag right as Anna lifted her camera to record what she assumed would be a confession.  
  
Instead, Artem winced and scowled up into the bright light coming off of the phone, one of the few sources of illumination in the darkness of what he assumed was Anna’s basement. The extra little light light up next to the flash showed that she was recording, ready. “I’m _not_ apologizing,” he rasped, the noises of alarm and fear he’d been making when gagged now having their effect on his voice. There was fear in his eyes, easy to see from the way his gaze flicked from the camera to the man who’d brought him to that basement, but he still shook his head. With a shaking breath, his brows furrowing. “I didn’t do anything. I haven’t spread any lies.” His sudden stubborn, adamant refusal obviously surprised the fox, with the way her eyes widened—before narrowing down into a subtle look of _rage_ at his defiance. The bridge of her snout wrinkles in frustration, and her gaze snaps up from his defiant stare. Her paw curls inwards as if prepared to pull back and strike him, her jaw set as she pulled back, only to pause at length and glance up to the Deer, deciding his strikes might be a bit more effective than her own.  
  
“Why don’t you teach him that that is _no_ way to speak to a lady? That lying to her face will only make it worse in the long run?” she coaxed, her voice sickly sweet. The Deer, taking a little breath at seeing her eyes fixated on him, felt a warm glow slide through him at the command. He would take deep satisfaction in bringing harm to anyone who had offended Anna’s pride. He turned to the Sergal from where the other male was trying to crane his head to look back at him, hidden just out of his peripheral vision. This was what blind sighted him, because just as soon as he tried to turn his head, a rough blow connected with the curve of his ear, knocking him to the ground with a startled noise of pain.  
  
He sprawled hard on the floor, his back pressing his bound hands behind him hitting hard against the tile and bending a few of his fingers in the wrong direction, drawing a yelp from him. He’s immediately on the defense, his legs lifting quickly to try and kick out to put distance between himself and his kidnapper, but the deer was on him like fire, dropping his knee down into the sergal’s gut, pinning him under his weight as he squirmed and writhed, squirming bitterly as he felt the deer’s curled fist drop on him like a hailstorm. Without the ability to lift his hands up in his own defense, he realized quickly that trying to defend himself was hopeless; he was pretty sure that Anna was recording this as well. Considering even through the haze of feeling the fist collide painfully with his jaw, he could hear her delighted laugh.  
  
There were at least two blows to his jaw, but the Deer did not want to knock him unconscious, so he focused on rougher blows to his shoulders, to his gut near where his knee dug into the soft, fleshy skin. For a moment, it was hard to breathe, the wind knocked out of him and the Deer’s weight making it hard to raise his chest again to renew what had been forced from his lungs.  
  
“W-wait!” He finally rasped with agony on his tone, gasping out the noise as he squirmed with tears welling in his eyes. He was sore and swelling, he could feel the agony sliding through him in the form or rising welts and bruises, and he wanted nothing more than to withdraw in on himself and protect himself from the flail of fists and blows. “I’ll do it- I’ll _do it, please-“_ His voice cracks into a beg and a plead and only after that, did Anna step forward to wrap her fingers around the wrist of the Deer’s raised fist. Artem’s plea had caught her attention, even though it had been begotten from a beating rather than any earnest intent to confess to a wrongdoing.  If the Deer had kept up for much more, surely he would have broken a bone or deformed him somehow; Artem had his pride and his vanity, and the thought of this encounter resulting in anything that would cause _permanent_ harm to his body instead of just a wounded pride was too much to bear. He didn’t know how far Anna was willing to take this, how long she’d let her manservant abuse him, but he was willing to do anything to make his torture end a little sooner. He could recant later, even if he couldn’t file any sort of charges with the police. Anna’s father would simply have them erased and have _him_ arrested for ‘filing false police reports,’ no doubt.  
  
With some disappointment that his beating had stopped, the Deer shifted his weight up and off of the Sergal for long enough that Anna could lift her phone again, a coy smirk on her face. There’s a little reluctance in his movement to pull back; he did not have any fondness for sergals, and perhaps he'd taken some enjoyment in laying into him with the blows. Ready to record his ‘confession’ again, a little curve of Anna’s lips hinted that she had no regrets over his beating. “Now, what was that?”  
  
He struggles not to groan aloud at shifting his weight, not looking up at the camera out of a sense of shame for the fact that not only was he being humiliated by being recorded in such a situation, he didn’t want to say a word that would incriminate him. “I… I have been spreading lies about Anna,” Artem choked aloud, his eyes closing tightly. There’s clear regret in the words before they’d even left his lips, and his exhale was both sharp and tight in leaving his chest, taking advantage of the few, brief moments of being able to properly breathe after catching his breath, out from under the Deer’s assault. “And… I’m sorry—they aren’t true.” His eyes hesitantly dart up to her features, and she made a small gesture as if to continue. His jaw clenched, and he glared away. “And… I … I beg her forgiveness for it…”  
  
“Perfect!” Anna chimed, after clicking the stop button on her phone, before she looked over to where her worker had been lingering since she called him off from his assault, and something akin to a smile flitted across his features. In the clench of his closed eyes, Artem had missed the subtle gesture she’d given after his apology—and as such, he missed the Deer’s quick approach. Before his eyes open, he hears the small rush of air that accompanies things moving through it too quickly to stop, and he let free a faint howl of agony as he felt the Deer’s hoof connect with his rib cage. From how little he’d been able to lift himself to be recorded on video, it suddenly sent him spiraling to the ground, his cheek pressing hard to the cold basement floor. Dazed in the pain at first, he almost didn’t register the pain of the second, or the third lashed out kick, though his little grunts of pain slipped free each time that the Deer’s foot connects. The fourth one makes him roll, curling in on himself with a choking exhale that is more whimper than anything else. Anna moved, leaning gingerly against the wall as she watched her worker pull back to land another kick; from the way that Artem had doubled in on himself, his blow landed not against his rib or armed as planned, but directly against the side of the other’s head. It hit his ear, scrubbing the bottom of his hoof against the basement floor in a way that shredded the sensitive skin and made him yowl.  
  
Another kick is given, to the head again, and this time, the Sergal stopped moving. There’s a moment of silence as Anna looked over in faint concern. “You didn’t _kill_ him did you? We’re hardly done yet.”  
  
With brief panic, he moved down to check the pulse of the still Sergal, and his shoulders relaxed when he found the pulse there still strong, and his breath still rising evenly in his chest. “He’s fine,” the Deer answered quietly, his brows knitting together faintly. Would he have mind if he’d actually killed the Sergal? Anna would be angry with him, but surely it wouldn’t be permanent and it’d be one less trouble to him in the world, from someone who would never make her angry again.  
  
After a second of consideration, she folded her phone away nearby on a shelf, arms crossing over the low-cut top of her shirt red dress. “Go get me that letter opener from my father’s office upstairs. The one on his desk,” she instructed softly moving in his stead to move over to where the Sergal lay limp on the floor. While she hated to get her hands _dirty,_ looking down on him, there’s a certain disdain in her gaze. “He’s a _haughty_ little one, don’t you think?” She questioned softly, her gaze roaming among the various shelves of the basement. Normally it was used for storage, and there were a variety of things she could use any of them, but what caught her eye was the wine rack—and the long wine cork that hung next to the rack. No, while his confession had been forced, she had a much more permanent punishment in mind. It would be one where he would never be able to look in the mirror again without realizing his crimes against her.  
  
He would never dare raise his hand or tongue against her again.  
  
The Deer was not gone for long; when he returned, it was with a small, daggerlike blade. It had been a decoration alone, shaped in the form of a miniature sword. Seeing him return brought a spark to Anna’s eyes, and though she was dangerous for it, the Deer couldn’t help but realize his infatuation with the fox all over again. The Deer stood by, steadfast in his beck and command of the other. Anna returned with the wine cork, extending her hand for the letter opener, which she took with no hesitation. The weight was comfortable in her hand, something she’d often admired on her father’s desk in the study. The blade was less than an inch long, the handle jeweled and comfortable in her grip. Truly a beautiful craftsmanship, and the perfect size for what she intended to do with it.  
  
After handing her the letter opener, the Deer moved to sit, restraining Artem’s legs under his weight as he gripped his hand tightly around the cuffs against his back, keeping him in place as Anna knelt to the ground, lifting his head to her lap. It was easy to pinch his ear until he was stirring, and with a faint, pained groan, he finally starts to blink slowly back into consciousness. Immediately, noticing his precarious position and the pain of the Deer weighing down his shoulders and knees together, he tried to squirm—it was with no success.  
  
“So, you didn’t think I could let you get off that easily with just that pathetic apology, right? No, no dear Artem. You’re going to remember this forever.” The smile that lingers on her features is dark and malevolent, but fully satisfied with what she planned to do to have him remember the consequences of crossing her—forever.  
  
With the faint fuzz filling his mind from just coming from unconsciousness, he almost doesn’t register her words for a moment, but he saw the dagger still in hand, and that was when he began to panic. “No,” Artem started, desperation and a quick, thick layer of fear coating every bit of tone that slipped from the base of his throat. The sound itself is a groan of agony, a plead mixed with a terror that sent a pleasant rush through her of adrenaline. He didn’t know what she was going to do, but he had always been so _proud_ of the gentle slopes of his face, the pleasant way his appearance could catch eyes and leave people curious about him. His vanity had been clear but unobtrusive, and now she was going to take advantage of the mortal fear that he had always had, deep down, of having his face scarred.  
  
“Oh, _do_ have some dignity. This won’t take long.” She noted, and try as he might to pull up, to squirm and dislodge himself from her lap, the Deer kept him from moving at all. Without much warning, other than the brief moment in which she dangled the letter opener over his wide-eyes, she drove it down. The blade punctured the eyeball head on, and the scream he made was a noise that no one in the room would forget for the rest of their lives. His back arched, though at the same time he felt _pinned_ to the spot by the short blade of the replica dagger. It wouldn’t go deep enough to do any brain damage unless he purposefully pushed upwards into it, but with how badly it hurt from just the initial press in, he couldn’t imagine doing anything to make it worse. She wouldn’t be so kind as to let him move just yet though, and with a little cackle, he felt her wrist move and then the blade _twisted,_ tearing open a hole in the middle of his eye. There’s moisture, a fluid that wasn’t quite blood but the viscous liquid found in the eyeball itself as it began to bubble over and push from his eye around the hole the twisted blade had made. His eye was deflating.  
  
“ _No, no no-“_ the words are burbled and screamed and all but slurred from his lips though it was far too late to do anything about the damage she’d already done; with how she’d jerked her wrist and twisted it, tearing the eye open completely and likely pressing into the nerves at the back of his eye, it was a little late to bother showing any mercy to his begging. “Please, _god_ , Anna, I’m sorry, no more, please-“ Artem begged with little hope of relief, wanting anything to let the pain stop.  
  
“Pathetic,” Anna hummed, leaving the little blade lodged in his eye as she pulled her hand away. It left the terrible full-but-emptying feeling in his eye socket, each little jerk and shake of his head making the knife shake lewdly from his eye socket as his lid sank low against it. There was nothing under it to keep it in the orb shape any longer as his eye sank flat in its socket, the fluid from within it seeping out like obscure, thick tears from the corners of his eye. Hopefully she would free him after such a grievous wound, but from the corner of his watering, still working eye, he saw her move to lift her next tool. The wine corn.  
  
The sound he makes isn’t legible, it isn’t any form of language but it’s a raw noise of pure terror as he anticipates her stealing his other eye. His struggles are renewed, until she seizes his perked ear with her claws and digs them in, making him go limp with the renewed, stinging pain. His lips part, a shaky, uneven noise slipping from him as he tried to deal with this new agony—just in time for her to shove the spiked tip of the spiral down into the top of his ear, driving it deep. It shreds the thing, sensitive skin along the inside of his ear, but she doesn’t stop there. When it hits the firm resistance of the smaller lobe of his ear, leading into the ear drum and precious nerves and hairs there, she holds his ear wide open still, and begins to twist. The sharp point of the tool tears into the raw, soft flesh on the inside, and his screaming renews, a wordless, incoherent sound of his terrified shrieking that was like music to her ears. The Deer’s were laid flat against his head in faint annoyance at the sound; Sergals were noisy, like always, and that was another reason he disliked them. If it brought Anna pleasure, though, he would deal with it with some small reluctance.  
  
The wine opener twisted deeper until it finally hit his ear drum, only half bottomed out in the perk of his ear. She had to be careful not to damage skull or brain matter by going too deep in her goring of his senses, as she had with his eye. The movement here was difficult, and she had to rely on bearing her weight down to push further in, finally feeling the strange little _pop_ of a sensation as the piercing tip pushes into his eardrum, damaging it irreparably. His hearing goes from the strange bubbling of being flooded with blood from the spiral making his way into his ear to suddenly a muffled pressure, then, to his horror, nothing at all. It was almost as if he could _hear_ the pain reverberating through the wound entirely, but there’s no actual sound coming to his senses from that side of his head anymore. He had been permanently imbalanced, left without sight in his eye and hearing in his ear for the entire right side of his body. His pleads had become incoherent, a mess of words that were no longer making any sense but couldn’t be discerned beyond curses, her name, and the word _please_ , over and over again.  
  
She didn’t leave the tool in his ear as she had his eye, no—instead, she lifts her foot to kick against the side of his head as she stood, using it as leverage to pull the wine opener free instead of unscrewing it as it should have been. There were tears free falling from his working eye now, scarred by the realization that he had been permanently altered.  
  
“Look at how pathetic he is!” Anna announced in delight, standing as she circled to get a good look at him now. Blood was matting the fur down from his ear, and now a bit from the damage to his eye, since the ocular fluid had run free from it. “Just what an _idiot_ like him deserves for crossing me, right? He’s _crying_. How pathetic… imagine if someone like this were to go on to have _children?_ You know… I think for the whole Sergal race, we make sure _this_ one doesn’t pass on any genes, don’t you?” It was clear she was operating on a power high, and she patted the Deer’s shoulder with a little. He took the hint, repositioning himself carefully then to move, first stripping the Sergal of his shorts. Then, standing with his hoof digging down against Artem’s chest, he took the legs he’d been sitting on and lifted them over his shoulders to spread them.  
  
In the daze of his pain it’s hard to tell what was happening, left exposed and spread for the Fox, until he felt the cool air of the dusty basement brush across his exposed sac. He couldn’t see her past the Deer with his hoof on his chest, but there’s a little scuffle of a noise, and without warning, he could feel the heel of her shoe kick suddenly against his balls. He couldn’t scream, not aloud, not with the sudden wave of nausea that seized him and rendered him speechless and voiceless beyond an open-mouthed, senseless pain that flooded up through his gut instantly. His entire body recoiled under the hoof pinning him down, and he choked on his own saliva just before he felt the next kick, then the next. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t even think for the agony sliding through him each time her foot disconnected with the soft skin of his sac. After over a dozen kicks, any contents of his stomach came up, and he had to turn his head to the side less he drown when he vomited, violently, in an arch across the floor. It joined the little puddle of blood now gathered from his ear, and in frustration, Anna let out a low howl. Even though Deer would be the one to clean it up, probably, the sight of it was enough to send her into a fury.  
  
“You _puked_ on my _floor?!_ You piece of _shit!”_ Her shriek of rage is the last thing Artem heard over the pounding rush of blood in his still-working ear. With how quick she was to anger, it was no real surprise that such a natural reaction only seemed to piss her off more. Instead of his squirming now, though, it was like she was kicking a useless piece of meat, laying thick and heavy on the cold floor. She kicked with both the tip of her toe, and downwards with a stomping motion, digging her heel and the sharper edges of it with the hard sole of the heel. __  
  
The Deer didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had stopped moving after doing so, likely unconscious from the pain and trauma of the event, though she had continued in her aggressive ministrations, not bothering to slow down even after it became obvious that he had slumped into unconsciousness. Dozens of more times her fury fell down on his vulnerable body, and by the time she was done, the sharper edges of her heel had ripped the skin between his thighs and his balls were swollen and crushed beyond recognition, nearly. It was enough to make her good wince at the sight, not having to hold his legs back any more as he let them drop to the ground. Anna was out of breath, her chest rising and falling hard as she glared down at his unmoving body. With a sneer, she moved forward, checking his pulse—still very much alive, it seemed, and then ripping the little letter opener she’d used to gore his eye from his head.  
  
“Get him out of my sight,” she spat, lip curled as she moved away to toss the blooded wine opener to a corner away from herself, moving to wipe the goo and liquid covering the blade of the letter opener off on one of the nearby cleaning towels, turning her back to them both. The Deer gave a disdainful look to the surviving Sergal, but he knew that actually killing someone would draw more ire and suspicion than necessary; Anna’s father was influential, but it could be used more to silence with money than it could be to cover up an actual death. Careful of the blood leaking form his ear or the vomit freshly coated on his muzzle, the Deer hoisted Artem up on his shoulder once more. It was the same trip back to the van waiting in the garage of Anna’s lavish home, though this time he didn’t have to worry about Artem kicking up a fight or fuss. If he survived his torment, then surely he would have learned his lesson on not to speak out against Anna again. If not, the Deer had no doubt that he’d be back to find him again.  
  
It wasn’t hard to drive him a few miles back into town, making sure he was far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to be traced back to Anna’s home easily, before dumping him on the curve and peeling off. Considering how late it was, no one would question the sudden squeal of tires without having to actually come out and see his van leaving. It gave him plenty of time to leave Artem on the side of the road, where he would be found almost an hour later, unconscious still, for someone to call an ambulance. The damage had been done, now, and nothing would fix what Anna had done to him in her fury.


End file.
